Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, February 11, 1993 TAG: 9302110020
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I'VE HAD MY SAY, NOW IT'S YOUR TURN TO TALK CHEAP
Time for some reader participation.About six weeks ago, I wrote a column calling my husband the "cheapest man alive," in which I lampooned him (lovingly) for scooping out the kitty litter daily to extend its life, fishing things I throw away out of the trash can and using a Kleenex at least four times before throwing it away.
Indeed, I might add that he rarely throws Kleenex away at all, instead letting them fester inside his pants pockets until I discover they've gone through the wash, clogged up the dryer vent and glommed paper pulp - and other unsightly matter - all over our clothes.
OK, so I was wrong to call him cheap. More than one of you called, wrote, stopped me on the street to let me know it.
I felt chastened, careless, spendthrift and spoiled. Like a rich kid whose daddy just discovered the ding she put in his Mercedes and didn't like it one bit. For someone whose dad actually drove a hand-painted (orange!) Dodge crammed with fishing and house-painting supplies, it was actually kinda neat for a change.
One of my college professors called me a "wastrel" (I had to look it up, too). Another chided me for throwing away mayonnaise jars rather than reusing or recycling them, the latter of which I do - honest.
An area minister suggested I reuse the mayonnaise jars for canning and to collect bacon grease - or else donate them to her church, Windsor Hills United Methodist, which uses them for their fall apple butter fund-raiser.
Even my own mother turned against me, telling me how blessed I am to have a husband who will deal with the cat litter at all. And that it was the Chef's Delight brand of imitation cheese goo, not the more expensive Velveeta imitation cheese goo, that she used to stretch her scant food dollars when I was growing up.
People like being cheap, I've learned, which is why I'm asking for your input on ways to save money around the house, in the yard, at the grocery, wherever.
Send your suggestions to Tight Tips, in care of the Features Department, Roanoke Times & World-News, P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke, Va. 24010. No coupons or mayonnaise jars, please, and don't forget to leave your name and telephone number (in case I have a question).
Better yet, spare a stamp by calling my voice mail at 981-3435 and leaving a message. From out-of-town, call toll-free: (800) 346-1234, extension 435.
To get you into the money-saving mode, here's a partial list of the advice I've been getting - unsolicited and free of charge - for the past six weeks.
From an editor: Iron used tissue gift wrap and reuse it to wrap presents.
From another editor: Save the tiny little bits of deodorant that get stuck in the bottom of the container and mold them into an empty container for reuse.
Incidentally, this person also saves slivers of soap, rewetting and shaping them into his "soap-burger" ball with every new addition - not to reuse, he says, but to further his art.
From yet another editor (cheap journalists, a trend?): Instead of blowing 55 cents every day at the Coke machine at work, buy the 2-liter jugs and fill empty 12-ounces bottles with it as needed to bring in to work.
From a friend, who spotted her mom doing this: Reuse your dishwater to water flowers.
By the way, my husband - a guy who owns a tailored-looking tuxedo, but found it in a dumpster (no joke) - hasn't been the least bit annoyed by all the recent attention on his cheapness. If anything, it's made him even cheaper.
For a Christmas party, he made luminaries out of paper bags, candles and spoonfuls of kitty litter for weight . . . which he promptly saved and reused, even though the rain made it clumpy and the cats protested by peeing on the basement floor.
He's also been spotted tearing Bounce dryer sheets in half, so that the shreds of Kleenex on our clothes are only half as static-clingy as they could be.
As for the stranger who stopped me on the street a few weeks ago to ask: "How did you get away with calling your husband cheap?"
Don't worry about our marriage, we're fine. My husband says he doesn't care what I write about him.
As long as I get paid for it.
Beth Macy, a features department staff writer, recently began clipping coupons but so far has forgotten to take them into the store. Her column runs Thursdays.